Cold Floor
by Purple Dice
Summary: Oneshot: Rated T for violence and some language, to be on the safe side. Chairman's Zala demands the location of the Justice and Freedom. Athrun is shot and and taken into ZAFT custody as a traitor: AU.


A/N: Well! As my re-introduction to I've decided to post a little drabble I wrote one night about a month back. I was in a pissed off and morbid/gory mood, so naturally I decided to torture my favorite character in the history of... ever. It's not the best, but just something to get the creative juices a-flowin'.

Athrun does not belong to me. If he did, Asukira would be a reality. Ah, yes. Implied romantic relationship with Kira, so BITE ME if you have a problem with that. I hate Cagalli and thus she is not mentioned. -BEATS ATHRUN WITH HER SUFFAH STICK-

The water was like a smack in the face. Ice cold, stinging his skin with tiny pinpricks. Stabbing, until he was numb. And then, Athrun felt himself struggling to breathe, throat tightening, until someone yanked him up sharply by the back of his blue head. The coordinator gasped and sputtered, eyes blinded by droplets, so he kept them shut. Bound tightly, he was thrown back onto his chair.

Was he going to die here?

"Traitor," a ZAFT soldier hissed, pulling on Athrun's hair until strands were ripped by their roots. The redcoat winced at the pain, but remained impassive to the title, defiant as the moment they had thrown him into the room.

And why was he here? Because his father had ordered it. The wonderful Chairman Zala, who had been enraged by his son's silence. He had demanded the location of the Justice and Freedom mobile suits. Demanded, and Athrun had refused. Did he even care now that his shoulder bled, throbbed, from the bullet wound inflicted by his own family? Pry the information out of him. Use any means. That was... what his father had told them. And Athrun was arrested, pushed into a van by a group of soldiers and hauled off.

He was... going to die here.

Confessing? There wasn't a possibility. He wouldn't betray the ones he cared about. Kira. Lacus. All of the people whom he had come to be friends with. The boy silently apologized to his brunette friend, for breaking a promise. He'd never come back to the Archangel. Again, his head was submerged into the freezing water. Metal cuffs knocked against the wooden chair, ropes pulled and chafed against a torn ZAFT uniform. The once brilliant red was soaked and dirtied into a muddled brown. Once more, he felt his throat cave, and then his torturer yanked him back up, allowing Athrun to suck in mouthfuls of air.

"Tell us where the Justice and Freedom are," he repeated, for the umpteenth time. The question had truly lost its meaning to Athrun. He regarded the soldier calmly, with half-lidded, faded emerald eyes. He felt a sting again, though it was the blow of his hand, and not the water. Truly, which hurt worse? "Athrun Zala," he addressed him again, sternly, "By order of the PLANT Counsel and ZAFT military, you are charged with treason, for withholding information."

"Tell me something I don't know," the blunette muttered darkly, and the older man's cold eyes narrowed.

"You have nothing to offer in your defense?"

"Not..." he turned to the side, and spat out a decent amount of swallowed water. "Particularly."

"Then, you realize, that we have direct orders to pull the whereabouts out of you." This was a second voice, from someone in the corner of the room. Athrun didn't turn his head to look.

"You will not take my machine." Athrun's resolve was firm, unrelenting. He wasn't sure if he could hear a sigh of breath or not.

"Athrun," one announced, more firmly, "Just tell us. They're weapons. Our weapons. Why risk it?" They had known the blunette. Had gone to the ZAFT academy with him. How had it ended up like this?

"Because I have someone to protect," the restrained coordinator growled, amethyst briefly flashing in front of his eyes. "And not ZAFT... not ZAFT, or anyone, will stop me." He licked at his lip, tasting iron, blood. Athrun was ripped to his feet once more. The soldiers wouldn't give him another chance. He knew that now and was willing to accept it. Because he was stupid, because he was stubborn, because he was... was he strong? Athrun didn't think so. He had ended up here, after all. One held his shoulders fast– the other slammed his fist into Athrun's gut. The boy choked out painfully; would have doubled over it if weren't for the one behind him.

"The Justice?" an irritated voice asked.

"Fuck... you," Athrun wheezed, shuddering. Another hit. He staggered, gnashing his teeth. He'd end up breaking something, he knew. He attempted throwing his weight into the man, if attempt to knock him to the side, but his efforts were fruitless.

"What was that, Zala?"

"Are... you that goddamn deaf?" the redcoat returned, managing a bitter, weak laugh, "Should I repeat myself? Slowly, so you can understand? ... Fu-" Rough hands tossed him to the floor. His shoulder hit the hard surface, jolt pain back through his already wounded arm. He lay there a brief second, bewildered with swimming vision. And then he was kicked, hard. Again. Repeatedly, until tears spilled from Athrun's gorgeous eyes and he yelled out in pain. They only stopped when they themselves were exhausted, and Athrun had curled up in what pathetic way he could. The floor was moist, cold. The perfect thing against his burning cheek to slip Athrun out of consciousness. His body slumped, his muscles gave one last shudder. The two soldiers thought they might have killed him already.

"Athrun? ... Athrun. Fucking a, Zala, wake up." A hand slapped the coordinator's face. Athrun was upright, that much he could tell in his dizziness. Head. Chest. Stomach. Throat. Arm. They all screamed at him. Blamed him for this agony.

"... Yzak," the blunette coughed, finally recognizing the voice. "You... you too?" Would make sense. Send in his former teammate to bribe the boy. They believed there would be a trust there. His father really was an asshole.

"No, you idiot." His bonds were loosened, and Athrun's limbs gave a great sigh, "I don't agree with this. You... You're going to get the hell out of here."

"Saving... me?" Athrun was bewildered at the idea. He kept his eyes closed, and grinned faintly, "Hn. You love me after all." A pale nose wrinkled, the silver-haired pilot snorted.

"Shut up before I decide to leave you here." And Athrun complied, too exhausted to protest. That, and other things kept him hopeful. It was easy to envision. A smiling brunette, with twinkling purple eyes. He wanted an embrace again.

"What the hell is that dumb look for?" Yzak snapped, hauled Athrun up and pulled his arm over his shoulders. "Lean against me," he commanded.

"Just... home." Athrun answered, after a moment of silence.

"Hmpf. Well, I suppose you want to get back."

"... Yeah."


End file.
